“I’m not. Just tell me what is going on,” I said with an edge in my voice.
Immediately, I regretted my tone. “Please, just sit and tell me. I can eat later.” I forced a smile and mimicked her patting the table.
“Oh, ok.” She sat down and began biting her bottom lip. “Today, I met with
Mr. Charles.” She took in a deep breath. “Caitlyn, I can’t sugarcoat this. We need to move out of our home. We can’t afford living this lifestyle without your father.”
“But, he had life insurance. Savings? He always told me how important it was to be prepared,” I cried.
“Honey, your father spent more than he made. If… he hadn’t,” she quickly clamped her mouth shut.
“‘If he hadn’t what?” I asked.
“Your father made some risky investments. We are moving into Grandma
Jane’s house. It has a great high school there, and you will be able to visit your friends.”
“You can’t be serious! My senior year, and you want me to start over at a new school?” I jumped up, knocking my chair over.
“Caitlyn, calm yourself,” my mother scolded.
“No, this is your fault,” I screamed, and ran to my bedroom.
I slammed the door for emphasis and threw myself onto my bed. This time I
had no tears. The well was dry.
Not long after my tantrum, a small knock sounded on the door. I pinched my
eyes shut, feigning sleep. The light from the hallway filled my room. I waited in anticipation.
After a few minutes, my mother softly said, “I’m sorry it has to be this way.
I’ll do my best, Caity.”
I lay in bed, hearing her words, over and over. I was losing everything I knew in one fatal swoop. The reality of it all consumed me, and I willed myself
to sleep. I needed to escape it all.
I woke suddenly. The alarm clock read 2:33 AM. My stomach growled. Today –
no – yesterday, I had not bothered with food. I devoured grief instead.
Sleepily, I shuffled to the kitchen. In the fridge, I found a glass container with some tomato soup. I tossed the lid in the sink and put it in the microwave.
As my food heated, I contemplated stopping the timer, but paused when I thought about a mouthful of cold broth. To pass the time, I poured myself a glass of iced tea, adding way too much lemon and sugar.
In the center of the table lay a manila envelope with the return address of Oxford & Charles, Attorneys at Law. Does this explain why we are losing our house? I picked up the envelope, and then quickly set it down. The beep of the microwave sounded, ending my debate.
I stared at the packet of papers in front of me as I ate my soup. It was
taunting me. He was your father. You have a right to know, it called.
Like a madwoman, I answered, “I want to know, but didn’t Pandora open a
box once?”
It’s already opened. Just look, it called again.
“Fine, I’ll open it, so you will go away. I’ll be locked up if anyone hears me
talking like this,” I said aloud, shoving my soup aside.
I pulled the papers out and carefully sorted through the pile. Past due credit
cards. Bank statements. Our house mortgage. A second mortgage with a larger payment?
Searching for more details, I found an address in San Diego. Flipping
through the papers, I found another sheet with the same address. It was closing
documents.
Words popped out of the page. Walking district of Bankers Hill. Mills Act. I scanned to the end. It was signed by Judith Savage. I sighed with relief. The law office had messed up and put her paperwork in our envelope. It was
understandable. After all, she was riding in the car with my father and died alongside him.
